


Pie in the Sky

by PrinceMalice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Dean gets pie, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Pie, Pie Shop AU, dean is a hero, implied Bobby x Jody, john winchester is a bad father, meg is a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceMalice/pseuds/PrinceMalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pie is more than something sweet. Pie is home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary's Cherry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First Destiel fanfic and I warn you, it's fluffy! Lyrics for this chapter are from "All Those Pretty Lights" by Andrew Belle

**Mary's Cherry Pie**

 

When Sam got a full ride to Stanford, he left a lot behind. Kansas was about as beautiful as one might think, which wasn’t very beautiful at all. Honestly, he had grown sick of seeing Dean pull a blanket over their couch-ridden, comatose father. Not that Dean himself was any trouble. In fact, Dean was probably the only thing he _would_ miss. The man could cut a sandwich into four perfect triangles and say the alphabet backwards quicker than he said it forwards. Sam was sure there was much more, but when he tried to think about it, nothing came to mind.

“Dean is just… he’s great,” he’d told Ruby one night, not understanding why it was important to build his brother up for her. “He just takes some getting used to.”

“I doubt I’ll ever meet him,” she’d said, and slipped out from beneath the covers. Her long thighs left him alone.

Later, Sam found himself making lists of things that made Dean such a memorable brother. He thought about the packed lunches and the rides to school in the Impala that always made Sam look like less of a nerd to his peers. Dean would wrestle their drunken mess of a father home and to work (when he was working) and into the shower. He would cook breakfast and dinner and holiday meals from the dusty recipe book their mother had left behind in her untimely death.

Dean could fix any car if he looked at it long enough and jammed out to classic rock cassettes (another memento of their mother’s) even when the rest of the world went digital. Dean was classic cool.

“So he’s a, what? Greasy rocker?” Ruby asked at dinner one night, Sam having finally convinced her to go on a real date with him.

“You are over simplifying it.”

“Oh please, do continue.”

Stanford was everything that Sam could dream of and he wrote emails to his brother every week to catch him up on the latest happenings. For a while, Dean would shoot back simple messages like ‘ _You’re such a nerd’_ and _‘Keep it up’_ , but soon the replies stopped coming. Eventually the only word Sam ever heard from Dean was the occasional postcard. He only ever signed them.

Sam was okay with that. Dean never really liked computers anyway. Still, he kept emailing him and checking for a response.

“So, your brother travels now?” Ruby asked him with a toothbrush in her mouth.

“Yeah, I guess he finally needed to get away from Dad.”

“How does he afford it?”

When Dean turned fourteen, Bobby Singer dragged his thieving ass into his auto shop and made Dean work to pay off the parts he had stolen from his junkyard to pawn. The man saw great potential in Dean, and kept him. The boy was a natural with a wrench, Bobby would say. The customers never seemed to mind. It wasn’t a secret where Dean was going after school, but any authority who knew John Winchester turned the other way.

Dean’s first real paycheck was for ninety dollars and thirty two cents. He used forty to open a savings account and the rest to buy Sam a new pair of shoes. Dean had worked every day of his life ever since.

“When I got my full ride, the money Dean had put aside for my college fund no longer had a purpose,” Sam said, unburying himself from the books spread out on his bed. “He gave me half in case I needed it and kept the rest.”

"How noble.”

Sam was glad Dean got to keep the money. He had worked two jobs and dropped out of school for that money. Dean deserved it more than he ever did. Dean had always wanted to travel, but Sam had preferred a more peaceful life.

When Sam met Ruby, he hated her instantly. She talked down on him (impressive, for their height difference) and was always loud and rude and much too beautiful to be anything but trouble. Four years later, having finished Pre-Law, Sam had proposed. It wasn’t monumental the way it probably should have been, but Ruby could shrug even the most outstanding events off her shoulders so Sam thought not to waste the effort. They were an odd pair, and often their friends would ask if they were _sure_ marriage was the right direction to head in, but somehow they had fallen in love and Sam wasn’t one to question the universe.

That was more Dean’s style.

Sam had guessed long ago that Dean left home because what made it ‘home’ had faded. With Sam gone, Dean would have been cursed to live every day catering to John’s alcoholism and working the blood out of his veins to pay bills that weren’t even his. Instead, Bobby gave him an out, took John into his own home and set Dean free.

Sam was surprised it took him two months afterward to actually leave, but leaving was always hard.

“Have you told your brother about the engagement?” Ruby asked, her heels clicking on the marble airport floor. Behind her, Sam carried two large luggage bags.

“I wanted to do it in person.”

“Isn’t that going to be a bit difficult? Isn’t he ransacking the country or something?”

Sam heaved their bags onto the conveyor belt. “Well, I have to tell Dad and Bobby first. They might know where we can find him.”

_There's a beating in my_  
 _chest_  
 _and it's seeming to suggest_  
 _that before this day is through_  
 _it might_  
 _go my way_

Bobby’s place hadn’t aged a day since Sam left. The splintering sideboards and aching rocking chair that groaned beneath the slight breeze had been perfectly preserved. They were just the way they had been in Sam’s memories.

“Is that you, boy?” It was telling how Bobby was the first to wrap his arms around the lumbering giant, trying to hide his excitement behind a mask of whiskey and scruff. “What are you doing in this old place?”

John looked up from his spot on Bobby’s couch and spared a rumbling “Hello,” before slipping his attention back to the television. He was similarly disinterested when Sam and Ruby stood before the two and announced their engagement.   

“Dean always said you were gonna go to college, get married, and have a bunch of rugrats,” Bobby said, running a hand through his hair. “Getting started on that yet? I’ll have you know, I’m too old to be babysitting.”

“Don’t worry, that’s a ways off,” Sam said, laughing. Even Ruby had warmed around the edges, but Bobby offered the sandpaper affection that she preferred.

“Have you told Dean?” John finally spoke up.

“Not yet. We wanted to tell him in person. We were actually hoping you’d have some idea of where he is right now or how to get a hold of him? We don’t mind flying out but we’ve gotta find him first and let him know we’re coming.”

“We don’t’ know where he is,” John said, turning the volume on the TV back up. Sam and Ruby shared a look, and it was probably the only thing that kept her from calling the man out for being so rude. “That boy hasn’t bothered to call even once since he left. You’d think he didn’t know how to work a damn cell phone. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

Sam and Ruby slept in the den that night on the pull-out couch. It wasn’t the most comfortable but it smelled like smoke and liquor the way home always had.

“Your father is a charmer,” Ruby said, combing out her dark tresses. “I’m so glad I got to meet him. Now I know to what extent I should go to in order to avoid further family reunions.” 

“I know.”

Ruby watched her fiancé strip out of his shirt with sharp, aggressive movements before she stood and placed her hands on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Ruby didn’t apologize often, but John Winchester made even the most unsympathetic of people want to apologize to his two boys. Luckily, before the moment could grow tense, a soft knock on the wall drew their attention from each other.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Listen to me, boy. Your father doesn’t know this, but Dean and I have kept in touch over these past few years.” His voice was a whisper, but unnecessary as John was likely passed out somewhere. “We exchange letters.”

“How do you know where to send them?” Sam asked him, pulling on a tank top.

“He has a PO box in Shiner, Texas. He’s had it for almost three years now.”

“What? He’s been living in Texas for three years? I thought he was traveling.”

Bobby shrugged his heavy shoulders. “The Idjit doesn’t ever explain himself. I just know that he never takes long to respond to my letters, so he can’t possibly go far.”

Ruby had watched the exchange silently until then, bored, but spoke up. “Does this mean we’re going to Texas?”

_It's just my patience that keeps_  
 _me alive_  
 _just like all those pretty lights_  
 _in the_  
 _sky_

Finding Dean was a very reluctant adventure, and Bobby was more than happy (in his less than amused way) to join up with them on their journey. He’d grumbled about his liver and old bones the entire time he’d planted himself alongside them.

“Are you sure it’s alright to leave Dad alone?”

“Rufus is gonna check up on him. He won’t get himself killed… hopefully.”

Nobody laughed.

The three drove down because Bobby insisted that taking a plane was useless when they had a healthy array of cars to choose from and would need one upon their arrival anyway. Sam had never been to Texas before, but Ruby had and she was an odd mix of excited and irritated to be going back. Something about Texas made people feel that way.

It was fourteen hours of driving that no one wanted to repeat, but would inevitably have to.

Shiner was smaller than the average small town and as Sam, Ruby, and Bobby looked down its single stretch of highway, the thought that Dean had been there for anywhere near as long as he had, seemed impossible.

“So, how do we find him?” Ruby asked.

Sam and Bobby shared a look equal parts pain and amusement before stating, simultaneously, “Sheriff’s office.”

Even if it was famous for its brewery, Shiner was a safe and very tight-knit community. Cops were as much regular citizens as the citizens themselves were, so when Sam asked a man outside of a gas station who to turn to for advice, the name he was given was ‘Jody Mills’. She was easy to find, thanks to various fingers pointing in the right direction. The woman had short hair and a stern expression while she paid for her newspaper, and Sam would have thought twice about approaching her. Thankfully, Ruby had no such restrictions.

“Excuse me, Sheriff. Maybe you can help us out?” she asked, her arms crossed and looking not even the slightest bit intimidated. It was no mystery how she kept Sam in line.  

 “Sure thing. What did you need?” Jody’s voice was far softer than her demeanor, and tapered upward at the end like the fingers on a delicate hand. Bobby could not help but to notice along with the glimmer of her badge that she was ‘something’. What that something was, he could not name, but ‘something’ all the same.

 “We’re looking for someone. Dean Winchester?” Sam said.

“Hah. Funny.” Jody smiled and tossed her head back. When the three did not share the sparkle of humor in her eyes, her expression dropped. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Usually, yeah,” Sam gave Ruby a sharp nudge to the arm, to which she responded by shooting him a look that could give puppies cancer.

“He’s down at Mary’s. He’s always at Mary’s.”

Sam’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“Who’s Mary?” Bobby spoke up, lowering his gaze when the woman turned to face him. The look Jody fixed them with was a cross of suspicion and pity, the likes of which Sam did not know could coexist.

“You boys ain’t from around here… are you?”

_Falling to your knees_  
 _before a stranger on the street_  
 _I did it just the other_  
 _day_  
 _You should have seen me_

As it turned out, Mary’s was a diner in the center of town that served thirty-six kinds of pie, ice cream, drinks, and all day breakfast. At least that was what the sign said beneath the twinkling red, light-up letters. Like all things in Shiner, Texas, it had been easy enough to find. Being a Monday in a town with around two thousand people, the place was startlingly packed. A dozen or so tables had customers crushed together like canned oysters and the only reason Sam, Ruby, and Bobby got one of their own was because they entered the moment a group of teenagers (who weren’t in school, for some reason) decided to leave.

“I can’t believe how packed out this place is,” Sam said, taking the chair in the back corner and the farthest from the rest of the inhabitants. “I thought Shiner was famous for its brewery?”

“They come for the beer, stay for the pie.” The voice was deep and ground like rocks tumbling together. None had heard the man approach. “Welcome to Shiner, and on top of that, welcome to Mary’s. We hope you enjoy your visit.”

The man had hair that stuck up wildly and wore a peach apron over his blue button up. On the apron was an embroidered bumble bee. Sam thought that despite his messy five o’ clock shadow and dark voice, there was kindness in his eyes that swam like oceans of blue. 

“Is Mary the owner?” Sam asked, glancing at his apricot menu. He hoped that if his brother _were_ there, he would not be lost in the crowd.

“What? No.” The waiter smiled, bringing life to his drooping eyes. “That would be Dean over there.”

Like the parting of the sea, the crowd split open to reveal the counter, not before seen. It was a half circle of crystal clear glass, shielding an array of pies set side by side. Behind the counter was Dean, so similar and yet so different than how Sam recalled him. The stains of car grease had been replaced with puffs of flower and although he still wore a flannel, it was tucked behind a full, tan apron. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, Deans hands worked through a mound of dough on a giant marble counter in plain view. Several customers watched him work, saw every caress of his thumb as he prepared each pie. It was a compelling show. 

“You’re telling me that boy owns this place?” Bobby asked, trying not to raise his voice.

“Mary was his mother’s name, so… yeah. Mary’s.”

Sam and Bobby exchanged a look that consisted of slack jaws and silence. Ruby cleared her throat.

“You serve pumpkin pie in August?” she asked, and Sam was grateful that at least she could form a coherent thought.

“Everything on the menu is available year round.”

“Why isn’t it seasonal?”

“Dean thinks that limiting pie to a certain part of the year is, as he puts it, stupid.”

Sam had just started to wrap his head around the fact that his brother owned a diner, a diner that specialized in pie, when the devil himself spoke.

“Cas! There’s meringue that needs whipping!” The shout traveled over the heads of the customers. Dean hadn’t even turned around. If he had, he might have seen Sam and Bobby gaping at his back. It was a surprise he did not shift under their scrutiny alone, but the man was so fixated in his work that he dare not stop.

“One minute!” _Cas_ called back, and really, Sam should have read his nametag.

“Have you decided on what you would like to order or shall I come back?” he asked, pencil held to the notepad in his hand.

“What would you recommend?” Sam really owed Ruby after this, for doing all the talking when he could not convince himself to speak.

“The ‘I Love You, Rhubarb’ pie, but I am being incredibly biased.” Cas’ gaze drifted from them. “Our most popular pick is the house special, ‘Mary’s Cherry’ pie.”

“The big one and I will each have a slice of that.”

“Make mine the same,” Bobby huffed, handing back the three menus.

“Would you like anything to drink with that?”

“Coffee,” Sam said, glancing at his companions. “Coffee?”

Ruby and Bobby nodded.

Cas’ smiles were not electric nor were they wide, but their presence offered to reassure Sam that his fumbling would be forgiven. “I will be back soon.”

_**Mary’s Cherry Pie** _

_Slice of Mary’s Cherry pie, a la mode._

_Never feel lost or alone again._

_With this slice, you’ll always be home. 3.99_

 “I can’t believe that _Dean_ -”

“Okay, this is something I didn’t see-”

“I wonder if the cherry pie is really all that-”

The three stopped, collected themselves, and tried again.

“Dean owns a diner,” Sam said.

“That makes pie,” Bobby added.

“And judging by the turnout today, is pretty popular with the locals.” Ruby whistled at the granite table. “No wonder Jody was so surprised. If this place is so popular, and Dean owns this place, we must have looked like fools trying to find him.”

“Dean owns a diner,” Sam repeated. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

Christmas and Thanksgiving had always been Dean, down to every dessert, including pie. Sam hadn’t thought about it growing up because there was _supposed_ to be pie on the table. He never questioned how it got there. Thinking back, there had always been a collective silence as it was eaten, an unspoken agreement to not congratulate Dean, then being a teenager, about filling in the role of mother _and_ father. Their quiet expressions were always of awe.

Sam recalled his pie being damn good.

Cas dropped three perfectly balanced plates on their table. On each plate was a fat slice of cherry pie, topped with whipped cream and a drizzle of honey. They could have been photos straight out of a magazine.

“Benny will be around shortly with your coffee. We had to put on a new pot, so you get it fresh.” But Cas was hardly paying them any attention. Dean had an arm up, waving a large plastic mixing bowl. Still, he did not turn.

“Oh. Right.”

By the time Cas was behind the counter, washing his hands in the small sink by the marble, Dean had pulled a pie from the oven with a perfectly golden lattice. He held it in large, red, checkered mitts and inhaled so deeply that, even in the bustle of the diner, his satisfaction could be heard. He set it beside the waiter who was then separating eggs into a bowl. None of the three even noticed the scruffy man who brought them their coffee.

 “Tell me, Cas,” Dean said, spinning the pie like a pinwheel. “Who do you love?”

“The humble?” Cas said, twitching from clear amusement.

Sam felt his throat go dry.

“Cheeky bastard.” Dean rolled his eyes and took the pie to the rack to cool.

“Sam?”

The younger Winchester snapped his gaze to Ruby, whose eyes were wide and watery.

“I can’t marry you,” she said. “I have to marry your brother.”

“He is not that hot-” Sam stopped when he saw the fork resting at his fiancée‘s lips. He looked down at his own untouched slice and took a tentative bite.

It was different. He could recognize clearly the familiar sour tang of his late mother’s recipe that Dean would use during the holidays, but the crust had changed. It flaked perfectly, and each flake seemed to caramelize on his tongue as he chewed. He was almost able to forget about the display occurring behind the counter, the one that wasn’t a row of pies.

“No one whips meringue quite like you do,” Dean said to Cas. His voice seemed to resonate within the walls, as if they knew that their god was speaking.

“Flattery will not put this pie away to set.”

Sam watched his brother, whom had always been the local trouble, _pout_ and, with his tail practically between his legs, mosey off to do as he was told. But not before Cas took a finger full of fresh meringue and _wiped it across Dean’s nose_.

“I thought your brother was a leather-jacket wearing, car-fixing, greasy, rock fanatic? That dude just wiped meringue on his nose,” Ruby said, her cheeks flared out around a mouthful of pie.

“Is Texas some sort of twilight zone?” Bobby grumbled, trying to disguise the eagerness with which he ate his slice.

“Honestly, I don’t even know how to approach him,” Sam said. He had thought Dean would be hanging out, or at most, serving for a few tips. He’d thought he could just amble up to him, knock him on the shoulder, and use the public setting to avoid any sentimental moments. But now…

“Hello again.” Cas had a real talent for appearing from seemingly nowhere. “I am on break, so if you have any questions about Mary’s or Shiner, I’d be happy to provide you with some answers. Dean and I believe sharing a pie makes you family, and family means being welcomed home.”

“Home?” Sam croaked, trying to clear his throat.

“Home. It’s where the pie is.”

“That’s awful,” Ruby said, turning her nose up.

“I know. I’ve tried to convince Dean to change it countless times, and yet it remains to be the truth.”

Sam might have thrown up if the thought of wasting a perfect slice of pie wasn’t so appalling.

“This whole place seems real mom and pop,” Bobby said, clearly taking pity on Sam who had ceased to properly function. “I’m guessing you keep it all local?”

“Mostly.” Cas pointed to the man that had brought their coffee. “That’s Benny. Dean met him in a street fight. The guy just jumped right in like it was an old past time. After they cleaned up, Dean offered him a job. Don’t worry though, he’s harmless.”

“The girl is Charlie.” Cas then pointed to a young woman who sat alone with a guitar case. She seemed almost bored as she sucked consistently on the straw of her milkshake. “She sings at three every Monday and Friday. I’m not sure how she got the gig but people love to come and see her. She’s starting soon, that’s why it’s so crowded right now.”

“Kevin’s a genius.” He gestured to an Asian teenager who scribbled furiously at a piece of paper on the counter. “He began spending every afternoon in the back booth, studying, and then Dean got a call asking if he delivered. He was going to say no, but decided it would be a better idea to recruit the kid. He’s not even officially an employee; he just gets free pie and makes a round or two each day. His mother is a real spitfire.”

“You deliver?” Ruby asked, her words garbled by her last large bite of crust.

“Of course,” Cas’ excitement at the question outweighed the allotted amount for any employee that waited tables. “We even have subscriptions. Who knew you could subscribe to pie? Every Tuesday, Old Missouri Moseley gets a Chocolate crème. Wednesdays the police department gets two Boston crèmes. Saturdays the local little league gets four apple. Not to mention we get calls every day asking for Mary’s cherry.”

“I’m surprised with all the options that the Cherry is the most popular,” Ruby said.

“It’s something about familiarity,” Cas said. “When Dean came here he had nothing but eight thousand dollars and a killer cherry pie recipe. He said what made it so good was the memories baked into it. Don’t tell him I told you, he hates it when he sounds sentimental.”

“I’ll bet,” Ruby snorted. Sam nudged her beneath the table, to which she gave him a much more aggressive kick.

Cas didn’t notice. He watched Dean’s shoulders roll as he pressed out a pie crust.

When Sam saw Dean, he saw a man free from the shackles he wore in Lawrence, free from the weight of two jobs, John Winchester, and even Sam, that he carried. Sam had left and Dean had finally come to life, blossomed. Dean made a place, with nothing but a GED and an abandoned college fund, where Sam could sit at a granite table and eat a slice of gourmet pie that made even his icy fiancée red in the cheeks.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “Are you local, too?”

“Not at all. I passed through on a business trip when I heard rumor of a recently opened pie shop worth visiting. I came in to see what all the fuss was about only to find out they did not serve rhubarb pie at the time, and, well, I’m still here.”

Sam wanted to put a name to the fondness in Cas’ eyes, but was unable to.

“You seem to admire him a lot,” Ruby said. Sam knew better than to attempt another nudge beneath the table.

“Who, Dean?”

She nodded.

“Of course.” Cas collected their crumb-free plates. “There isn’t a man in this town with anything bad to say about him. Women on the other hand…”

“So he’s a player?”

“ _Ruby_ ,” Sam groaned.

“Not in a while, no. I do hope he has kicked that habit,” Cas said.

“Hey, Cas. You have to try the rhubarb with the kiwi. I thought it was gonna flop but I have to say you were really onto-”

None had seen Dean loom up behind Cas until Dean had seen them. His eyes locked on Sam’s and his last word tumbled out almost as an afterthought.

“Something.”

“I look forward to it,” Cas said, not noticing the rise in tension. “I was just answering a few questions for some first timer’s. I never did get your names…”

“Hi, Sammy. Bobby,” Dean whispered, shier than either had ever seen him before. He looked caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Sammy?” Cas repeated, his eyebrows brought together. “As in-“

“My brother, Sam.”

The waiter with the peach, bumblebee apron glanced back and forth between the two Winchesters.

“Well, this is awkward.”

“Tell me about it,” Ruby grumbled with her arms crossed. Now that the shit had hit the proverbial fan, she saw little chance at ordering a second slice.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Dean asked, abandoning the staring contest with his brother.

“Ruby.” She extended a polished hand.

Dean took it, but with reluctance. Sam had guessed as much would happen. He’d had a similar first impression of the woman.

“I would say Sam’s told me all about you, but he really hasn’t,” Dean said, claws extended.

“I would say he’s told me about you as well, but it seems he got it all wrong.”

Sam could not have imagined their introduction going any worse… until it did.

Still holding Ruby’s outstretched hand, Dean’s eyes shot back to him.

“Engagement ring,” he said. “Sammy, why has she got an engagement ring?”

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you in person.” Ruby glanced at her stuttering fiancé. “I mean _we_ wanted to tell you in person.”

She smiled.

“I don’t’ like her,” Dean said, dropping her hand, repulsed by the news.

“Tough nuts, we’re getting married in the spring,” she said.

Sam wasn’t sure what would have happened, surely a throw down of some sort, had Cas not intervened.

“It’s two, Dean.”

Dean nodded and let the subject drop, which was good because if he had started yelling about the engagement then surely Sam would have began to yell about the restaurant and why it took him stepping foot in the door to find out it even existed.

“I’ve got to send out some deliveries. I’ll be free in half an hour. Can the inevitable conversation wait until then?”

“No problem, Dean,” Sam said.

“Okay. Good. Cas, can you run to the bank?”

“Of course.”

Cas followed him to the counter and waited while Dean emptied the safe from beneath the register. He shot a nervous glance at Sam’s table before dropping his voice to a whisper.

 “I’ll miss you,” he said, flashing his infamous smile at the waiter.

“I don’t understand why, I will be gone for no longer than two of your metaphorical shakes.”

“They’re not _my_ shakes, Cas, they’re- just get out of here.”

The shaggy man left with the chime of a bell and Sam thought an angel might have just gotten its wings.

“Does Cas share ownership or something?” Sam asked, shifting in his seat.

“I don’t know but they make quite the couple,” Ruby said.

“Um, they are not a couple.”

“They so are a couple.”

“You’re crazy.”

“C’mon, Bobby,” Ruby said, “Isn’t it obvious? I thought it was obvious.”

“How would I know?” Bobby grumbled, sinking lower in his seat.

“I admit,” Ruby said, “I thought this was going to be a horribly boring and agonizing trip, but I’m having a swell time.”

Sam stared into his now cold coffee.

“We should order a Mary’s cherry to take back. Or five. I feel like I need one all to myself.”

Ruby’s voice had become a distant hum to Sam, who thought about the intimacy between his brother and the waiter when they had been behind the counter. The feather-light banter, the meringue… The evidence suggested it to be true, but more so than being told that his brother finds sexual interest in men, Sam could not believe that Dean was in something that resembled an actual relationship.

Dean, who groped girls in the janitor’s closet and ditched his prom date two years in a row, committed.

“It looks like that Idjit has more explainin’ to do than we thought,” Bobby said, taking a sip of his coffee and scowling. It too had gone cold. “Damn.”

_And I remember we stayed up_  
 _way past you're bedtime_  
 _up on the_  
 _2nd floor_  
 _down by my sliding door_  
 _just innocent kids_  
 _in a victimless_  
 _crime_

By the time Cas returned from the bank, Dean and Sam had already instigated an argument about whether or not they would be paying for their meal. Sam insisted that not only had Dean done enough for him in his life, but their arrival was completely unannounced and Dean should not have to feel obligated to take care of them. Dean, however, asked what the point of owning a diner even was if your family could not eat on for free.

Cas settled it by giving the three a half off discount and a free extra slice of Mary’s cherry that Ruby happily devoured.

The sound of her munching was too much in the silence, so Sam blurted out, “Are you and Cas…”

“Fucking?” Ruby finished, wiping her mouth with a delicate hand before diving in for another enormous bite.

“Ruby, I do not need that image in my head.”

“This is so not happening right now,” Dean hissed, rubbing his eyes.

“This could all be for the best,” Cas said, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The gesture was placating and Sam could not un-see how pliant Dean became at a single touch.  

“I just want to know what the hell is going on,” Sam said. he wasn’t mad about the restaurant, or the sexuality shift, he was just angry that Dean never bothered to mention _any_ of it.

In the background, Charlie began to sing.

“About the restaurant or about Cas?”

“Both.”

“Fine, I’ll try to summarize it for you.”

“Okay but can you… I don’t know… leave out any… you know.”

“Sex parts,” Ruby said.

“Those are my favorite parts,” Cas said, looking down-trodden.

None but Dean knew it to be his joking expression.

“Not now, Cas.”

“And yet it is I that you refer to as a spoilsport. I’m going to make coffee.” The man stood and rounded to the, once again, empty pot.

“Make mine a double,” Dean called out.

“Make your own a double,” Cas grumbled.

Still, he came back with two.

  
 _Trapped in a metaphor_  
 _Hoping for something more_


	2. I Love You, Rhubarb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know,” Dean plucked at his shirt. “I think pie is supposed to mean something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics used in this chapter are from "Lost and Found" by Katie Herzig

**I Love You Rhubarb**

 

Dean and Castiel could not have come from more different backgrounds. Dean had always been desperate to escape his life, and Castiel… Castiel had accidently wandered out.

-

_“Wait, so your name is Castiel? What kind of name is that?”_

_“It’s an angel’s name.”_

_“Gross.”_

_“I’m not being cute. It’s literally an angel’s name! Sam, control your fiancée!”_

-

When Dean saw the ‘for rent’ sign on a dusty window, he only inquired out of curiosity. Six months later, he and Benny, a man he’d known for half as long, opened the doors to Mary’s. It wasn’t some incredible process, the money he had saved for Sam’s college was as good as any other money and the leaser was more than happy to take it.

Dean had always been passionate about pie. He used to get teased at home because he’d eat it with such gusto. Truth was, although he’d never admit it, pie filled a certain emptiness in his chest, especially his mother’s cherry recipe.

He used to stand by her legs and watch her thin fingers fold a perfect lattice with expert precision.

If anyone asked Dean why he opened a pie shop, he’d give them the same answer.

“I needed a home, and home is where the pie is.”

Because at the end of the day, while he cleaned up alone, it was the smell of crust and the fruit stains on his hands that made it all worth it.

He’d yet to meet someone he could not convince that pie could solve all of life’s problems. He’d patted the backs of strangers, broken from their dissatisfying career, and watched them renew their hope with each savory bite. Dean had witnessed people fall in love over a shared slice of pumpkin and a latte. He’d seen children stop kicking and screaming and driving their parents crazy so that they could dig their chubby fingers into the warm pit of slime and giggle, all within his first year of business.

Dean believed with absolution that there was not a person on Earth who did not deserve a slice of pie, and personally accepted the challenge of ensuring everyone got one. Then came Castiel.

Castiel was the youngest of five siblings, and found himself meeting the empty bottom of a pie tin much too often in his life. One by one, they each left home, and pies stopped being on the table altogether. Because Castiel never got any, he did not know what it was that he missed, and so never felt the need to go buy one for himself.

To Castiel, life was business, school, the church, and everything else his parents expected of him. There was no time for pie.

One day, when he was still an undergraduate student, his classmate, Balthazar, brought him a slice of rhubarb pie. It sat in his fridge for two days before he thought to eat it. He microwaved it for thirty seconds, muted the television, and took his first bite. In two minutes, he had devoured the entire slice.

The world was no longer grim. He stepped out of his corporate and paved out existence and into one of color and all new depth perceptions. The world turned slower, and he could have sworn that he felt it tremble. He exhaled, and he exhaled fireworks.

When Castiel called his classmate to tell him what a marvelous thing Rhubarb pie was, Balthazar cut him off by informing him that he would be moving across the sea to attend post graduate school in London.

He should have asked for the recipe, but the thought just hadn’t occurred to him.

Castiel spent the next six years conforming to the path his siblings left him. He traveled a great deal, only ever for work, but always took the time to stop for pie when he had the chance.

Unfortunately, not only was rhubarb pie a rare find, but on the occasions when he did manage to see that beautiful word on a menu, the slice never quite lived up to the one Balthazar had made for him all those years ago.

He’d just about given up hope when he stepped into Mary’s. It was small and clean but hardly memorable for its interior. He was seated by a man with a strong Cajun accent who smelled like bourbon and Castiel asked himself if he really wanted to be there at all.

He didn’t even touch the menu.

“Do you have rhubarb pie?” he asked, unfolding and refolding his napkin. The lacquered tables were an ugly puce.

“Sorry, Brother, we don’t. But we do have a selection of twenty-one other types of pie. If you would take a look at our menu-“

Castiel stood to leave. He would only be wasting everyone’s time. There was a discernible silence as the door lurched open, and he thought that perhaps it could use a bell.

“What was that about?” Dean asked, emerging from the back room with a stack of clean dishes.

“Guy just left because we don’t serve rhubarb. I guess that’s the only kind he likes.”

Watching the rugged man in the trench coat walk away, Dean felt, for the first time since leaving Kansas, that he had failed someone.

-

_“Because you didn’t serve rhubarb pie?”_

_“Oh my God, Ruby, shut up.”_

_“Are you gonna let your brother talk to me like that?”_

_“Please don’t put me in the middle of this.”_

-

Castiel left Shiner with no more, and no less warmth in his heart than when he arrived. It was easy to forget about Mary’s while he sat through a six hour business conference. Outside, the ocean churned and it meant nothing to him.  

Castiel only stopped in Shiner again on his way home because it was small and he got a great deal on a hotel the time before. After checking in, he wandered the streets and visited several antique shops in which he never bought anything. It wasn’t hard to come across Mary’s again, because it sat at the center of town and the town wasn’t big at all.

It had been his intention to not spare its poor window display a single glance, but the sound of the door creaking open and a shout stopped him.

“Hey! It’s you.”

The man that had clearly run to the door was not the same that had attempted to serve him, and therefore had no reason to recognize him. The man was bow-legged and wore a flannel beneath his stained apron.

“Do I know you?” Castiel asked, not wanting to be rude, but also wanting to go back to his hotel to sleep.

“No, not really. I’m Dean.” Dean held out a large, flower-dusted hand. “Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel Novak.”

The man’s grip was firm and warm, but still powdery. Castiel made to move his hand back as quickly as possible.

“I stopped you because you were here about a week ago? You tried to order Rhubarb pie?”

Castiel thought to himself that there was no way this strange man could have known that.

“Well, we didn’t have any then. But I felt really bad about it so I decided to add it to the menu. I had no idea you’d be passing through again, and it’s still a work in progress, but if you’d like, you can have a slice on the house. Just tell me what you think of it, alright?”

Throughout Dean’s ramble, Castiel had gawked, and while Dean waited for an answer, he wrung his hands together as if he feared he might be rejected.

“Alright.” Castiel didn’t want to go so far as to say his heart skipped a beat when the man smiled, but it did indeed stutter. He followed him back into the cold atmosphere of the diner and was seated.

Dean brought the slice out himself.

“It’s not on the menu yet, because I’m still tweaking it. I never really understood rhubarb pie, you know? I mean, who takes a plant and puts it in pie?”

The crust gave easily beneath the tines of his fork, and for the first time in a long time, Castiel hoped as he brought the first bite to his lips.

“It’s okay,” he said. Once again, Balthazar’s pie was reminded to be nothing but an old memory.

Dean went stiff where he stood, and wiped his hands against his apron almost mechanically.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

Castiel did not know how hard the blow to Dean’s ego was. He had researched for two days before settling on a recipe, and then proceeded to cook seven different pies, all slightly different, until he’d made one he was happy with. Dean never liked rhubarb pie, so asking him to decide if it was good enough for his shop was like asking a vegetarian which barbeque sauce would taste better on ribs.

He would just rather not have anything to do with it.

“I can make it again,” Dean said.

“What?”

“I can do it again, maybe tweak the recipe. You can come back tomorrow and we’ll try again… I mean, if you can.”

That was when Castiel noticed that Dean’s eyes were particularly green, especially when shrouded with such determination. He was supposed to head home in the morning, but something about Dean made him say, “Okay,” instead.

He could stay a few extra hours.

_I know you left me standing there_   
_Out of the calm of the coldest air_   
_I don't believe the words you said_   
_But I can't find the words I want_

“I had no idea you owned this place,” Castiel said, his elbows on the counter as he watched Dean fetch dough from the fridge. “I thought you were just the cook.”

“Both, actually. It’s just me and Benny.” Benny it seemed hadn’t shown up yet, but it was early and Dean could easily handle the morning customers on his own. There was never many of them. “We both only ever need to work at the same time during lunch. It’s our busiest.”

Castiel had been there at lunchtime before, and their busiest wasn’t very busy at all.

“You could probably draw more customers in if you added some more tables. Nice ones. Granite or something.”

“Like I could ever afford that.”

Somewhere, a timer went off and Dean fetched his latest rhubarb pie from the cooling rack.

“Shall we?” he asked, slicing it perfectly. Castiel’s piece oozed the familiar burgundy inside and it almost made his mouth water. Almost.

They both took their bites at the same time.

“It’s pretty good, for a plant,” Dean said, still chewing. Castiel worked at his bite slowly, uncertain of how to say what he was thinking.

“Oh God, it’s that look,” Dean said.

“What look?”

“The ‘it’s okay’ look.”

Castiel wanted to apologize. Dean had worked so hard on it, and it was good, but there was no explosion, no fireworks.

“What the hell am I up against?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean walked out from behind the counter and pulled a barstool up next to Castiel.

“I know pie, so I know there is a particular pie on your mind. Spill.”

Castiel didn’t know anything about Dean except that he owned a diner and had more determination than the rest of Shiner put together, so he told him his story. Dean had scowled appropriately at the empty pie tins and laughed as Castiel tried to describe the feeling he got when he ate Balthazar’s slice of rhubarb pie.

“Maybe it wasn’t because it was rhubarb that you loved it so much,” Dean said when Cas finished his story. “Maybe it’s because that pie, that particular pie, meant something to someone.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know,” Dean plucked at his shirt. “I think pie is _supposed_ to mean something.”

“What does your pie mean?”

“To me, it’s home.”

“Home?”

Dean smiled and Castiel’s insides fluttered once again.

“Yeah, home.”

When Castiel looked at his luggage that night, packed and set on the hotel comforter, he felt a pang in his side. He considered momentarily that such a pang was a sign of a heart attack, but chalked it down to disappointment. He had wanted the pie to be perfect.

When he attended graduate school, he had tried to forget all about pie and explosions and illusions of happiness. He didn’t have _time_ to be happy. But in that hotel room, with his phone up in the air to search for service, Castiel typed r-h-u-b-a-r-b into the search bar, and waited for the results to load.

Dean hadn’t expected Castiel to come back, but that did not mean he hadn’t spent the night suffering over his failure. There were two other customers inside when the man in the trench coat swept through the doors, and Dean wondered if he knew what an impression his entrance left on people. Castiel laid a paper down on the counter and shoved it toward him.

“This recipe has six hundred and forty two ‘likes’ online. Six hundred and forty two people prefer this recipe,” he said, looking as serious as he ever did.

Dean felt his face quiver the slightest bit before a smile erupted.

“And?”

“It’s a start.”

Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel had intended to get behind the counter that day, but upon Dean’s invitation, the stranger was happy to join him.

“We have got to come up with something shorter to call you.”

_If you were gone in another life  
I don't believe I would just survive_

“My father used to say, if you could not love what you create, then you did not deserve to be a creator.” Cas was knuckles deep in cold, crumbling dough that would be a beautiful crust. Dean could tell. “He was talking about God, but I think the same applies to pie, don’t you?”

Dean shrugged and held out a forkful of his mother’s cherry pie. Cas had been coming in every day for a week to help prepare the pies for the next morning, and every day he and Dean tried a new rhubarb recipe. They’d each have an inevitably disappointing slice after closing, and ate the entire piece rather slowly.

Cas didn’t leave until Dean did.

That night he helped make crusts, and after accepting Dean’s offered fork of pie, shrugged.

“Excuse me? That is my mother’s famous pie, and you just shrugged?” Dean gaped, taking the fork back as if Cas hadn’t even deserved it.

“I think it could use a spoon or two of honey. The crust, I mean. The filling is fine.”

“We are not putting honey in our crust,” Dean snapped, shoving a bite twice as large as it should have been into his own mouth.

-

_“The menu says, ‘ Every pie made with Mary’s famous honey-crust’.”_

_“Ruby, I will set your dress train on fire.”_

_“Joke’s on you. I’m not that traditional.”_

-

“That sign is awful,” Cas said. He and Dean stood just outside the door to Mary’s, side by side, and observed the paint that had already begun to peel at the edges.

“I’ll admit it’s not the greatest.”

“How much to replace it?” Cas asked.

“I’m not sure. I never really checked.”

The mussed man already had his phone out.

“How do you feel about cardinal?” Cas held the phone up for Dean.

“That’s red.”

“No. It’s cardinal.”

Dean and Cas disagreed more often than they agreed. Sometimes Cas showed up with grocery bags of which the contents Dean found rather questionable.

“What is that?”

“It’s ice cream, Dean.” Cas dropped the perfectly round scoop onto a slice of apple pie.

“It’s white. I said to get vanilla.”

“This is vanilla,” Cas held out a spoonful. “It’s all natural vanilla bean.”

Dean’s face could not have curled more. He inspected the spoon, personally offended by it, and pushed Cas’ hand back. “Cas, this Texas. You _have_ to get BlueBell and it _has_ to be cream colored.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s culturally and aesthetically pleasing.”

“And?” Cas asked, shoving the spoon in his own mouth. 

“And it’s Texas!”

He slid the silverware out and saw his warped reflection in its clouded curve. He looked happy.

“What are you smiling about?” Dean asked, pulling the tub away from him and scowled. He was certain that no customer wanted to see black specks in their ice cream, all natural or not.

“Nothing,” Cas said. “It’s just, next you’re gonna make me wear cowboy boots.”

“Well…”

“No.”

_One day I will see Heaven's reach  
I'll find the one who left me sleeping_

“Dean, if you drop this on me, I swear I will leave you and I will never come back,” Cas said, his voice drawn tightly from his efforts to hold the large slab of granite. Across its murky surface, Dean grumbled and shifted his weight to keep the both of them balanced.

“How many of these are there?” he asked. Cas closed his eyes and let out a long, winding sigh.

“Twelve.”

“Why the hell are there twelve?”

“Why the hell did you only have four tables before? Did you really think so lowly of your ability to run a business that you ordered only four tables? And laminated at that!”

Had they not both been in a struggle against gravity, they might have launched at each other or worse, turned away. Fortunately or unfortunately, Dean and Cas were forced to face each other as they lugged the tabletop to the back corner of the diner.

“I liked my tables before! They were colorful.”

“They were _puce_.”

“These are white!”

As soon as the slab was set in place, Cas’ hands flew to his hips. He may have been shorter than Dean, but up close, Dean could see each individual hair of his ever-present stubble.

“Excuse me, but they are not. They are ecru and they will help the food stand out. The tables should not be more attention catching than the pie, Dean.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that puce is very attention catching!”

After they managed to pit in the dozen new tabletops, Cas sat at one and sighed, long and loud. Covered in a sheet of sweat, Dean brought him a slice of their latest attempt at rhubarb, one with butter and cinnamon and a few other ingredients that made the both of them nervous.

They sat at the newly installed tables and Cas could not help his smug expression at how nice the crisp gold crust looked against the faint granite. Dean rolled his eyes and held out a fork.

“Only one slice?” Cas asked, taking the offering.

“I have zero hope for this one. No point in us both getting sick from eating an entire slice.”

Cas shrugged and lifted a forkful his lips. Dean did the same, and at some unspoken twinkle in their eyes, they both took their bite.

The walls hadn’t been painted yet. Cas had made plans for them that Dean had reluctantly agreed to, and the windows were all covered to keep the renovations a secret from the public until they opened back up. The sun was already setting and the diner had twelve glittering granite tables that looked to be worth every bit of trouble they had caused. It was hot because they had worked so hard, and even with the smell of sweat and the scrape of their forks having met, Cas and Dean could not look away from each other.

The pie was not an explosion. There were neither fireworks nor illusions, just an impossible heat that swelled where their heavy bites had dropped into their stomachs.

Dean let out a shaky laugh and lowered his fork. Cas only stared at the plate. It looked the same as every other slice. They had all been so similar to one another that the pies had begun to run together. Cas could not wrap his head around what made that single slice of pie special. His and Dean’s forks clicked together again, and they ate the slice in a shroud of sweat and silence.

The air hung heavy with something left unsaid.

**_I love you, Rhubarb_ **

_Slice of Rhubarb pie, a la mode._

_The words are stuck in your throat, but you don’t have to say them out loud._

_Rhubarb knows. Rhubarb always knows. 4.99_

 

Dean didn’t care that Cas had changed the way things were at Mary’s. Ever since the man began to tweak the place, revenue tripled and Dean began to be greeted in the streets. Also, if Cas was bossing Dean (and his diner) around, he couldn’t leave.

Yes, Dean complained when Cas painted his walls ‘cherry blossom’, which was essentially pink, but he could not deny how spectacular of a backdrop it made to his pie display. He would, however, never say this out loud. Dean was also very grateful for the things Cas did, especially when he showed up with a contract from local producers.

“Quality control,” he had said, and Dean didn’t even look down as he signed. The whisper of laugh-lines at the corners of Cas’ eyes were far more interesting.

In two months, the different types of pies they made nearly doubled, and the customers tripled.

_If you're gonna cry my tears_   
_If you're gonna hold my breath_   
_If you're gonna let me see the sun you set_

Cas had been living in a hotel for three months when he made the phone call. It had consisted of much screaming, of which he was never proud, and it wasn’t until Michael called him a disgrace to not only himself, but to his own family, that the line went silent. Sitting at the edge of the bed that was too uncomfortable to have been sleeping in for so long, Cas buried his face in his hands and prayed.

He prayed all night.

“I’m leaving,” Cas told Dean the next day, his eyes red and swollen.

Dean wanted to yell. He was so used to yelling at the people he cared the most about, but it was noon and customers were lined up, all eager for their favorite slice.

“When?” Dean asked, wiping his hands on his apron. Cas noticed that he tended to play with it when he felt like a failure.

“Tonight. I figure it’ll take me a day or two to drive back. I’ll sort out my affairs and be back by the end of next week.”

“What? You’re coming back?”

Cas’ eyes narrowed the way they had when Dean had first run out of his door to stop him.

“Of course. You said so yourself it’s too busy now, that you need a new waiter.” Cas brushed his fingers against Dean’s hands, willing his nervousness to cease. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you.” They were talking about the diner. They always spoke about the diner and the walls and the tables and the pies, but there was more to the way Cas kept his knuckles against Dean’s.

Dean never let Cas check back into the hotel. He dragged the man, his three suitcases, and a black cat to his doorstep. He even forgot to mention that he was allergic to cats.

“Just stay here until you find a place to rent. You can’t keep living in a hotel. It’s expensive and boring,” Dean said, clearing out a dresser.

Cas slept on the couch for two weeks, and his cat, Meg, took a liking to Dean’s bed. It wasn’t because she liked the man, in fact, Meg only slept near him because deep down, the dastardly feline knew Dean would be sneezing all night.

“I’m going to bake your cat into a pie.”

“You most certainly are not.”

Dean and Cas sat together at his table and ate over-medium eggs and toast while Meg rubbed herself against Dean’s bare leg with vigor. He could already feel the hives forming.

“I’m really sorry about it, Dean. She would sleep with me, but there isn’t enough room on the couch.”

“She should sleep on the floor,” Dean said, stabbing his egg excessively.

“You really don’t know anything about cats, do you?”

That night, Cas slept next to Dean. With Meg curled into his chest, and Dean against his back, Cas made the sacrifice to become their barrier.

Much like his experience at Mary’s, Castiel had stepped into Dean’s apartment and forgot to leave.

_Somebody found me here_   
_Somebody held my breath_   
_Somebody saved me from the world you left_

The last time Dean had shared a bed with anyone that wasn’t solely for sex, was with Sam. His brother had been thirteen years old, and although they used to share often when they were younger, the two had finally gotten their own twin beds. He crawled in one night because John had come home drunk and angry and although he never hit the boys, the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen was too much.

It would be the last time Sam ever slept by him, tall and gawky and uncomfortable with the two of them pressed so close, but Dean would miss it.

Cas was not like Sam. Where his brother had been young and sharp, Cas was soft and filled out. Dean’s hands had settled on the man’s sides, and he hoped Cas would forget that they shared a queen, and that there were plenty of other places for Dean’s hands to go.

They didn’t talk about it in the morning, because then they would have to put a name to their newfound intimacy and not only was Dean not ready for that, Cas wasn’t either.

It wasn’t until Dean walked in on Cas holding his mother’s picture, hand gentle on the frame, that he accepted what they had become. Instead of saying it, Dean rested his nose on the man’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. Cas did not react to the man behind him, and continued to map Mary’s beautiful face, and count both the similarities and differences between it and Dean’s.

While Dean melted against his back, Cas melted inside.

They never said it out loud, but when Cas showed Dean the new menu, they both stared at the bottom left corner. Scrawled there were the words, _I love you, Rhubarb_ , and Dean didn’t mention it.

_Every war was another seed_   
_That could feed every soul in need_   
_Oh, I'm worn by the war in me_

Cas got a strange phone call one afternoon while he was elbows deep in pitted cherries. The phone in his back pocket screeched and Dean snorted as he reached in, being overly handsy.

“Pervert,” Cas said, craning his neck so Dean could stick the phone against his ear. “Now isn’t a good time,” he said to the phone.

“ _Oh shame. It figures my timing would be terrible_.”

“Balthazar?” Cas was happy that he didn’t drop the phone into the pool of cherries. “How did you get this number?”

“ _Gabriel owed me a favor. I thought I might cash in._ ”

The swamp of red that swallowed his hands seemed to churn along with his stomach. Cas watched Dean slice strawberries and decided he wouldn’t even ask, that he didn’t even care anymore about the strange slice of pie that had troubled him for so long.

He didn’t have to.

“ _I just wanted to apologize_ ,” Balthazar said, his voice a crackle. “ _About the pie back in undergrad_.”

“Apologize? Why?”

“ _You… you don’t remember?_ ”

Cas thought back on how the slice had seemed to devour itself in a flurry of color and feeling.

“ _I laced it with acid_.”

“You… what?”

“ _Laced it. You really needed to lighten up. You were such a tight-ass. You will forgive me, won’t you, Cassie?_ ”

Castiel could have yelled. He wanted to, how much of his life had been wasted wanting that pie? Was it an addiction thing? Did he even actually _like_ the pie? Or was it nothing more than the experience? He should have yelled, but Dean’s yelp as he sliced into his thumb derailed him. The man stuck the digit in his mouth and cursed himself softly, and Cas knew that he would not be standing there had it not been for that particular slice of pie. It meant something.

“Balthazar, if I ever see you again...”

“ _You’ll what? Stab me? Please just be gentle on my face._ ”

“No.” Cas smiled. “I will give you a real slice of pie. One that isn’t fireworks and flashing lights, but one that sticks with you. Thaws you. I’m going to give you a slice of pie that makes you feel like you’re always home.”

Over the phone, he could hear Balthazar shift and mutter, “ _He’s finally lost it_.”

“No, Balthazar.”

Dean wiped a smear of blood on his apron and scowled.

“I finally found it.”

_Oh, I am lost and found_


	3. You're My Chocolate Puddin' Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re My Chocolate Puddin’ Pie? Who names these?”
> 
> “Cas,” Dean said, giving him a stupid smile.
> 
> “Throw me under the bus, Dean, go ahead. I don’t mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics used in this chapter are from "To The Ends of the Earth" by Lord Huron

**You’re My Chocolate Puddin’ Pie**

 

Jo was almost as beautiful as she was ornery. When she was young, she used to smash rocks together for the simple satisfaction of hearing them break. Ellen had always known that her daughter would be a handful, but it had taken a certain skill to be able to rein the girl in when she became a teenager.

Jo’s idea of a good time was diving headfirst into a lake or hanging out of car windows to feel the wind in her teeth and the bugs in her hair, or whatever. When she met Dean, she was nothing but one big loaded spring, and if his leather jacket and sparkling Impala suggested anything, it was that he would be a real thrill.

Jo could not have been more wrong.

Dean was all smiles when they met, but it was a practiced flirtation and she tried not to take it too seriously. Even when they snuck behind the school between classes to, not make out as rumors suggested, but share a cigarette, Dean was far more gentlemanly than his appearance had led Jo to believe. In the end, Dean would not be able to satisfy her thirst for excitement. He was too busy working two jobs to support his alcoholic father and little brother. When he wasn’t working, he was driving Sam to school or taking him shopping. Outside of the few classes Dean bothered to show up to, he had no time for Jo.

Jo accepted this, but had lost the will to look for excitement in others. She liked Dean. Perhaps a bit more than Dean liked her, but she got him and Sam free meals at the Roadhouse her mother ran. It felt good knowing that she could help. Slowly, the aggressive search for adventure dissipated, and Ellen had Dean to thank for that.

In return for him having dragged her daughter out of a spiraling desperation for excitement, Ellen watched over Sam after school. He’d sit at the bar stool and do homework and she’d give him ice cream. Dean wouldn’t have accepted the charity, would have insisted on paying for it, if he hadn’t been so sick of leaving his brother home alone with John after school.

John hadn’t done anything to imply he would ever get violent, but Sam was not something that Dean would ever take a chance with.

Just because Jo had calmed down toward the end of high school, did not mean than she was any less cantankerous or had stopped picking up centipedes with her bare hands. So when Ellen had practically stuffed her into a cream dress with a sweetheart neckline and, dare say, a bustle skirt, she was less than happy. Jo had stumbled out of her house and into the car to her best ability, which was hardly satisfactory if her mother’s cringe said anything.       

Ellen wore a floor length, tan dress with a flower pin and a brown blazer. She looked beautiful, but Jo knew that her mother could still kick her ass halfway to Sunday if she pissed her off.

Jo braved the heels and the dress and her mother, whom was aiming to prove exactly where Jo got her temper from, all for Sam. Baby Sam who had sat at the bar with his face buried in his homework, surrounded by drunk men who were better company than his own drunk father. Sam, whom Ellen and Jo had fed and praised and attended his award ceremonies as if he were one of their own. Sam, who had once mistakenly called Ellen ‘Mom’ and made her and Dean both cry, but neither until they were back in their own rooms, in the dark.

Jo wore a dress and heels because Sam was getting married. It was no spectacular event, but small and warm and in Bobby’s own backyard. The grass was greener than it had ever been, even for Spring, and streamers of silver and white swept like dragons whipping through the scatter of Christmas lights that twinkled out of season. When the ceremony ended, food was brought out in platters and the whole lot of them erupted after such prolonged silence.

They had slipped back into normalcy, despite a few new additions.

The bride, for example, was probably the last person Jo would have imagined Sam marrying. She could still see him at the bar, kicking his legs, and she wondered how he and Ruby came to be.

Ruby, in the most stunning dress that fell like a spiral from the cinch beneath her bust, with her hair in perfect ringlets toppling down from her up-do, was fingers deep in barbeque sauce. Aside from the actual ceremony, Jo had yet to see her not eating, and she figured it must have been a nervous habit if nothing else. Ruby also spoke like she was always mad. Even her compliments felt barbed, but again, Jo thought that maybe she just couldn’t help it.

And then there was Cas. As surprised as she had been to meet Ruby, meeting Castiel was something else entirely.

She had been ecstatic to see Dean again as the wedding approached. He had been gone for as long as Sam had, and she missed the both of them terribly. She and Ellen were both at Bobby’s when the Winchesters were scheduled to arrive, and Ellen had warned her that he was bringing a date. Jo hadn’t thought much of it, because Dean was handsome and had certainly taken it upon himself to find a good time since he was no longer caring for Sam or John.

She only wished that his arrival had not been so catastrophic.

John hadn’t had a drink in hours, which was a good sign, and Jo figured it was probably only because he knew his boys were coming back and he wanted to at least _seem_ somewhat put together. He’d even put on clean pants and ironed his shirt. Or at least, had asked Ellen if she could iron it for him. It was a start.

When Dean arrived, he walked in the door with a man on his arm. A man with peachy skin and overgrown stubble and some of the bluest eyes Jo had ever seen. The silence lasted ten seconds, long enough for everyone in the room to piece together what they were seeing. The breaking point was when Dean’s grip visibly tightened, and John erupted.

It took both Bobby and Rufus to calm him down, all while Dean stood resilient. The man was even more stoic, and Jo could tell that they had been steeling themselves for that moment for a long while. Still, Jo could see Dean’s resolve weaken with a quiver of his upper lip.

She didn’t even want to think about that, about how hard it had been for Dean to introduce Castiel, _Cas_ , while his father was still steaming and the tension in the room was tangible. Things only got worse when Dean told them what he had been up to for these past several years. John was not happy, but Dean didn’t look the least bit surprised.

At the reception, Cas wore a sharp black suit beneath an ugly, overly-large trench coat. He stood by the table of pies and made sure that they were perfect, each sitting in a tray of ice to keep them chilled. They were the pies that he and Dean had made together, in their diner. Jo ached inside to know that Dean had settled down. In the back of her mind, she always hoped that it would be her, but Jo hadn’t realized how heavily she held onto that hope until she found out that he and Cas had been living together for two years.

Her heart had promptly broken, but she couldn’t let it bother her. It was Sam’s wedding after all, and everyone should be happy.

_Oh there’s a river_

_That winds on forever_

_I’m gonna see where it leads_

John sat in a back corner with a bottle of Jack. He drank glass after glass as if it was water, but nobody said anything. What could they say? Ellen was speaking to a woman who had flown in from Texas, a friend of Dean’s and apparently, of Bobby’s as well. Her name was Jody, and she and Ellen were very civil to each other. _Too civil_ , in Jo’s opinion.

It was no secret that Ellen and Bobby had a thing back in the day, but no one was supposed to talk about it. Jo felt a pang of sympathy for her mother when Bobby put an arm around Jody, but Ellen looked incapable of giving two shits and it made Jo proud.

Watching Dean approach Cas almost shyly, _shyly_ , Jo wondered if she was capable of imitating the expression. Dean made to stick his fingers in the pile of whipped cream on one of the pies, but Cas caught his wrist. Instead of releasing it, he pulled it, and Dean, closer, until Jo had to look away. It was much too intimate to witness.

She turned in time to see Sam casting careful looks at his bride, as if he were scared to get caught, and Jo wondered if she was just going to die dusty and alone. The newlyweds approached the table of pies, and Ruby snatched up a silver place card to read.

“You’re My Chocolate Puddin’ Pie? Who names these?”

“Cas,” Dean said, giving him a stupid smile.

“Throw me under the bus, Dean, go ahead. I don’t mind.” Cas didn’t bother returning the gesture, instead carved a perfect slice to hand to Ruby. She took a generous bite, and for a moment Jo swore every sliver of bitterness fled from her face.

“Thank you,” she said, and finally Cas looked back at Dean to wink.

“It’s our pleasure.”

It was strange for Jo to see the world move on. She felt frozen in her teenage escapades and shared cigarettes between classes. She was already twenty-five, still worked at the Roadhouse, and hadn’t met anybody to make the past few years worthwhile.

She needed a drink.

_Oh there’s a mountain_

_That no man has mounted_

_I’m gonna stand on a peak_

Jo wasn’t sure how she ended up near John of all people, but she somehow had in her attempts to escape polite conversation.

“It’s disgusting,” he said with his mouth full of liquor.

She could feel her arms begin to tremble, but she often would when in the man’s presence, and from little else than anger. In John’s line of sight, Dean and Castiel held hands, but you wouldn’t have noticed had you not been looking. They weren’t even facing each other, engaged in two separate conversations. Still, they stayed connected. 

“Look at them, flouncing around like a bunch of fairies. A pie shop. A fucking _pie shop_. Maybe I should have beaten him.” 

 

**_You’re My Chocolate Puddin’ Pie_ **

_Slice of Chocolate Pudding pie._

_There is nothing wrong with familiar._

_Don’t feel compelled to spice up your life._

_Y_ _ou can always turn to Chocolate. 4.99_

“You know what you are, John Winchester?”

The octave of Jo’s voice had the entire wedding party turning to see the commotion. Even the soft violin that had been playing screeched to a halt.

“You’re a bad father. I said it. We’ve all thought it, but I said it.”

John stared at her, slack-jawed, and looked like he had plenty of rage to back up whatever he would say, if he could think of the words. Dean appeared at her side, an arm on her elbow.

“It’s okay, Jo.”

“No, Dean. It’s not.”

She waited for someone to step up, to agree with her. But as usual, when it came to John Winchester, everyone was pitifully silent.

She leaned down to remove her heels, and stormed off. Jo much preferred the crisp grass beneath her feet anyway.

“And I wanted a perfect Spring wedding,” Ruby said, taking another bite of her pie.

_Out there’s a land_

_That time don’t command_

_Wanna be the first to arrive_

Dean found Jo hiding in the junkyard. It wasn’t a surprise to either of them. When her and Ellen used to fight that was exactly where she would go.

“Hey, Jo,” he said, crawling into the old Cadillac to sit beside her. “Are you okay?”

“hmn.” Jo plucked a stray leaf from the skirt of her dress, painfully wrinkled by then.

“I wanted to thank you,” Dean said. Neither of them looked at each other. “That’s the first time anyone has ever… defended me, I guess.”

“Which is stupid. Why do you have to do everything yourself? When is someone going to stand up for you, Dean?”

The man stared at the last sliver of the sun disappearing over the field of junk cars, looking for the answers.

“Dean?”

“Sometimes when I was younger, I would imagine my mom standing behind me. She was always sturdy and she always yelled at Dad. She always took my side,” he said, leaning on the dashboard. “I used to pretend that Dad was just so thick-headed that he couldn’t hear her, and that’s why he never changed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It just means that to me, she was always there.”

They shifted, and for a while all that was heard was the creak of the battered leather seats. Eventually, Jo laid her head on Dean’s shoulder, and pretended that the last four years hadn’t happened, that the Winchesters had never left her.

“Dean, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Jo pinched his arm through his button up and he yelped.

“Alright, ow, okay, I’m sorry.”

She waited another moment, uncertain.

“Dean... do you love Cas?”

Jo thought maybe she had stepped over some unknown boundary when Dean did not answer right away, but then he stroked her hair with his calloused hand and said,

“More than pie.”

They both laughed until their eyes burned, Jo’s a little bit more than Dean’s, and they agreed that they had moped for long enough. When they got back to the reception, Cas found Dean and his hands found Dean’s face to cup while he drilled him with ‘ _are you okay?_ ’ and ‘ _do you want to go? We can go._ ’ Jo thought that Cas must really love him, too.

John was nowhere to be seen, and Ellen didn’t yell at her the way Jo thought she would. She just wrapped her blazer around Jo’s shivering shoulders because it was getting both late and cold.

“We can’t change him, Jo. He’s just going have to change himself,” Ellen said, holding out a slice of pie.

Jo hated being seen when her face was swollen, but she accepted the offered slice if for no other reason than to hide behind it. The pie had already warmed by then and began to collapse. With each spoon, Jo chewed away the tears that burned in her eyes.

_To the ends of the Earth_

_Would you follow me?_

_There’s a world that was meant_

_For us to see_


	4. All American Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wow, Dean. You’re the only person I know who can get on the wrong side of a cat.”
> 
> Meg decided that Sam wasn’t as awful as his brother, but she still did not let him pet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics used are from "Never Alone" by Lady Antebellum

**All American Apple**

Meg hated Dean Winchester. Not in the _you’re an asshole whom has made a point to garner my anger_ way, but in the _Castiel has reduced his petting sessions by sixty-three percent_ and the _how am I supposed to sleep when the bed is always rocking_ way. Meg didn’t want Dean _dead_ , but she did want him to take a long, one way trip to a distant nowhere. Until then, she’d sit on the counter, much to Dean’s chagrin, and shake until she was sure that a healthy layer of fur had blanketed the kitchen.

On one particularly odd human holiday, her beloved owner and his less-than-desirable partner had shoved her into a plastic crate. She had traveled by car before, usually in the lap of Castiel or left to wander the back seat. She was good about travel. When Dean had brought home the brand new travel crate, Meg was certain that Dean had finally convinced Castiel to get her put down. Like hell was she going down without a fight.

Meg got four long gashes in Dean’s arm before they managed to shut the gate on her. Lying there, she licked his blood off of her paws and knew that it would have to be enough.

For now.

“She fuckin’ clawed me!”

“I told you she wouldn’t like the crate. She’s never needed a crate before.”

“She is not getting her fur all over the Impala.”

Meg made a point, when she was in the car, to stand at the gate and scratch herself like her life depended on it.

_May the angels protect you_

_Trouble neglect you_

_And heaven accept you_

_When it’s time to go home_

Meg imagined that a drive to one’s death would feel unreasonably long, but after the sun began to set and cast the rumbling car in pink, she knew that she must have got it wrong. It was nice to know that she wasn’t due to die that day, but still, Meg would have liked to know where it was that she was going.

The last time she had been on such a long trip had been before Dean was in the picture. She had been staying with Gabriel for a month, and just about when she’d decided that her stupid owner had abandoned her, he came home.

She ignored him, rightfully so, for six whole hours. Even when he tempted her with toys and scrupulous apologies, she turned away. It wasn’t until Castiel had given up hope that she returned to his side, satisfied with his punishment. She wouldn’t have forgiven him so easily had she known that only a week later he would pack up what little he owned, break his lease, and shove her in the car to meet Dean.

Dean wasn’t the worst human in the world. She had seen documentaries of dictators and murderers on the television before, but he wouldn’t let her on the table or eat from Castiel’s plate the way she would at home. In fact, she stopped getting leftovers almost altogether, save for the times when her traitorous owner would sneak her chunks of chicken when Dean wasn’t looking.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Dean then insisted that her new litter box have a _lid_. No one wanted to crawl into a hole to relieve themselves in the dark, not to mention how claustrophobic it made her feel. At least Stalin had never tried to control her eating or bathroom habits.

Meg rolled as much as she could in her crate to stave off boredom, but eventually resorted to singing. She sang for what felt like hours.

“If she doesn’t shut up soon, I’m going to drive off a cliff.”

“There aren’t any cliffs, Dean. It’s been flat for six hours and it will continue to be flat. Nothing but stupid flat, flat, flat.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re getting prairie fever.”

“Drive faster, Dean.”

_May your tears come from laughing_

_You find friends worth having_

_With every year passing_

_They mean more than gold_

Meg hated Kansas. There were too many old cars and Castiel had let her roam freely while he and many other strange humans cooked dinner in a blazing, metal pit. She wanted to teach him a lesson for not keeping an eye on her, to wander off until he was a weeping mess over her disappearance. Meg, however, could not find the effort. Castiel’s training would have to wait.

It didn’t take long to figure out that the strangers were associates of Dean, and she was not surprised. They all smelled like car grease. Meg watched Dean embrace his brother, _Sam_ , and share an uncomfortable handshake with _Ruby_ , and she was certain she’d get everyone’s names straight by the end of the night.

Sam tried to pet her, and she might have let him had she not been so determined to be a brat. For Dean’s sake, of course.

“Don’t even bother with that one,” Dean said, grimacing at her as she strutted away. “She’s not very friendly.”

“Dean is wrong. Meg was very friendly before I moved in with him.”

Sam laughed.

“Wow, Dean. You’re the only person I know who can get on the wrong side of a cat.”

Meg decided that Sam wasn’t as awful as his brother, but she still did not let him pet her.

_Well I have to be honest_

_As much as I want it_

_I’m not gonna promise_

_The cold winds won’t blow_

_So when hard times have found you_

_And your fears surround you_

_Wrap my love around you_

_You’re never alone_

 

It could have been worse, but it seemed that not all of Dean’s friends were as against feeding Meg scraps from their plates as he was. The scruffy one with the baseball cap especially. Whenever no one was looking, he’d slip her entire slivers of brisket. Bobby, so she learned, was a softie.

The entire yard smelled of beef and sweet apple cider. There was not a drop of liquor on the premises. Even Dean was dry. Beside him, a man with salt and pepper hair and old, tired eyes, patted his shoulder and drank cider as well.

Meg thought it looked terribly boring.

“Don’t you ever get sick of pie?” Ruby asked, sidling up alongside Dean and who Meg guessed must be his father. They had the same jaw line, but the similarities ended there.

“Are you kidding?” Dean said, “Pie is the solution to everything.”

“I wouldn’t say everything,” Castiel said, appearing beside them.

“Yes, everything! Someone dies – I’m sorry, here is a three berry pie to help ease your pain. It’s someone’s birthday – Happy Birthday, have a lemon meringue.” Dean’s hands were held up, as if he were trying to capture the grand scheme of things. “Marriage – Chocolate pudding pie. Divorice – Still chocolate pudding pie. Graduation – Boston crème.”

“He’s very passionate about his pie,” Castiel said, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The father looked away, but said nothing. Meg wasn’t sure if she liked him, if for no other reason than that he hadn’t said more than two words to Castiel since their arrival.

Sam arrived with two plates, one of which he handed Ruby. She took a large bite and hummed.

“It’s apple,” she said.

“Of course it’s apple. It’s the fourth of July,” Dean said.

“You can’t get much more American than apple. Trust me, I tried,” Castiel said.

“You should have seen it!” Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “He tried to make a red, white, and blue pie.”

“It was going well until I got to white.”

“He tried using grapes.”

“A mistake on my part, that I remember asking you not to mention.”

“And then he finally agreed to go with apple, like I had been telling him to since the beginning.”

The group laughed, and the father had somehow slipped away without Meg noticing.

 

**_All American Apple_ **

_Slice of Apple Pie, a la mode._

_What’s that? You’re not American?_

_Don’t be silly, everyone’s American when they’re eating apple pie, whether you like it or not. 3.99_

 

It wasn’t that Meg was antisocial. She liked to think of herself as a willing participant to praise and adoration. Unfortunately, the mass of people wanted very little to do with her. Instead, they sent rockets hurdling into the air to explode in a fountain of blistering color. It was beautiful, but also incredibly loud.

The four women, Ruby, Jo, Ellen, and Jody, all stood huddled together by the metal fold out table that held the food. On it was a picture of another woman, blonde, with eyes strikingly similar to Dean’s. They all looked to be cowering from the men who seemed determined to set everything on fire. Showers of gold and red and blue and white filled the sky. A cacophony of whistles erupted as they soared.

The black sky was painted, and Dean and Sam and Castiel spun like children in the snow, and soon, Ruby joined them.

“Careful, Ruby. I might accidentally set your hair on fire,” Dean said.

“I dare you.”

Meg watched from beneath the drying, old deck. Her vast, brown eyes glittered with whispering gold sparks. Together, the humans danced in the grandeur, like a brilliant fall of rain brushing against their skin.

Everyone was set aglow. 

_My love will follow you_

_Stay with you_

_Baby you’re_

_Never alone_

 

 

 


End file.
